i know the information is already there, i could read it all, become a walking encyclopaedia, so well informed for a conversation on the matter, but why specialise and leave the thrill of emotions of being less informed, always eager elsewhere, indeed not necessarily informed, but given the chanced bewilderment - to have wondered, rather than regurgitated.

upon reaching this exhausting day, how many
whiskey bottles and beer bottles has it been?
i do not know, but suddenly the
joy of being sedated by the content
became apparent that i was simply
exhausted by being sedated -
but why would i suddenly
clasp the thought of futility because of this?
there would be no point.
- i'd never apply the theory of evolution
toward man, man's too ingenious for
such a crippling theory, esp when
encapsulating so much time in that
ugly aesthetic - just by example,
was man supposed to become a *******
like that, finding something and then
turning it against himself?
just today i heard about the cuckoos
and their hosts the reed warblers -
now the theory of evolution i can understand
like that, because it's in *real time,
it's a useful theory to watch the battle
between cuckoos and the reed warblers,
or the cuckoos and sparrow-hawks -
the fascinating way, as if by magic the eggs
change colour and pattern,
the reed warblers' eggs have a specific pattern,
the cuckoo lays an egg of a similar pattern...
but what is the required diet for this?
it's not like these birds can use some sort of
telepathy - looking at an egg long enough
for it to "magically" change colour or pattern;
yes, the reed warblers' eggs have changed
pattern over the years as a way to fight the
parasitic cuckoos - now that's a perfectly
acceptable glorification of the theory of evolution,
these are lesser creatures, shorter lifespans,
it's in real time, and in such a way it does
not overpower man, the theory doesn't become
a Frankenstein monster, turning against its
"creator" / explorer in the realm of thought -
it can be applied against all the biodiversity
out there - but the question is still:
how does the reed warblers' eggs change pattern
to fight against the cuckoo eggs
and vice versus?
no, it surely can't be dictated by telepathy -
but how could a diet of any kind be know
to the cuckoo to change the egg patterns -
but then again... maybe telepathy does exist
between host and parasite - woman and foetus;
what a crude relation, no wonder there are
many negative symptoms during pregnancy,
i think it might be with a woman making this
comparison of the foetus being a tapeworm,
although salvation, the umbilical chord,
it's not exactly a tapeworm with a sucker attached
to the intestines... we're born blind for a while,
our **** muscles are weak, bladder too, and so is our
oesophagus (pulp food, milk), and seemingly
boneless because toothless, their development
outside the waters in the flammable
air, of infuriated fire and restless chasms of
the oceans, to the ravaging rumble of the earth
itself trapped in vacuum, in a twinkle of the Orion.

And what of all the people I befriended!?
Motivation is the key to all my locked potential!!
Your reverse racism is an affront to my good nature
I'm ******* gorgeous, your frontin' days are over!
I am the suffix, your sins are mine to judge

Where's God in this air-tight situation!?
Biblical narrative, are we crying over spilt milk?
Bittersweet I trust your intuition
Strong words, you've got me on the ropes
Arguments I've passed over time and time and time again...
Jesus I am nature, I am the presentation

I'm on the edge!!! Don't push me any closer!
I act so you don't have to, I could be your life
I'm a metamorphosis! I'm shafted, I'm large product...

I'm enslaved without shackles
Hegemony: Make me feel this way
Little do I know You're the example!
Running in circles at the art attack!
I'm overly dedicated! I specialise in killing your noise
I'm retreating ! ... !!! I can't take it any more!
Bravado is single fold, I'm high off invention
I'm mysterious, I am the question.

What responsibilities do you have?
Your caution precedes innocence! I'm fraught!
A memory alone will suffice

I must look like a Dork

there is a seperation

a pain of seperation

such as a seperation

that only lovers specialise in

where the prevention of thought

is like a fortress overrun

where trampling terrains of concern

stampede upon the praire of the mind

transforming it into a soft savanna

of wating engagements

that murmer with comforing enchantments

lays upon such pain of seperation

as that of a perforated scar

seared across the heart

bringing tickles of soft warm tears

to the cheeks

the happist time becomes

a chasm only conquerd

by that gulping unification

of embrace

where soft burning lips

meet in that unknown

but express language

of clasped reunion

it is that pain, that awful pain

that only lovers know

concerning anti-kantian lexicon completion to understand the notion of a priori (it's a niche interest... c. bukowski explains it better in the book tales of ordinary madness in the chapter titled **** and kant and a happy home... well, not really, if he knew german i’d say that he was truly defining a priori, learning a language rather than unconsciously acquiring one from the first word mama or whatever toddlers say first when they mastered the bladder and **** muscles, which are oddly designed to be consciously / forcefully trained because they're crafted as slacked... weird), let’s say that’s about as much relevant to me as is this scenario:

an actress about to perform the monologue script
of *not i, prior to performance and at the stage
of memorisation asks samuel (beckett): ‘what does this mean?
this one line? it’s bothersome for my conscience,
my sense of meaning and direction, what does it mean?’
then ol’ samuel tells her: ‘back up, bets and back up,
it’s the most self-conscious eventuality of all vague attempts
to stand outside of oneself within the scaffold of using
language - this dismemberment beginning with extracting
thought for the senses to see hear and feel, writing...
this morphing of the substance we consider thought without ethos, ethics,
choices, looking at the zeitgeist... but honestly?
i haven’t got the foggiest idea... i wrote it because i wrote it,
the desired intentions are reserved for those desiring to read it
and leave it.’
like the famous p.s. of human history written by moses on sinai,
the melting of ice enveloping britain and elsewhere up north,
formerly known as the ice age causing flooding elsewhere...
and that metaphor of: lions gazelles... two-by-two, two-by-two
being a metaphor for monogamy... whereas the harems of other
animals like walruses was obviously avoided
and gave us islamic polygamy (added to the fact
that people refer to themselves via the zodiac...
taurus... scorpio... capricorn... or the chinese calendar...
dragons tigers pigs rats and monkeys etc.);
otherwise known as hermeneutics - extraction of meaning
from very concise texts... very very concise texts
which, if taken literally... leave you as quickly as they came,
and make you specialise in geology or biology instead.

“if i was an object i would be a sprung board from the floor of a ballet studio
i’d specialise in brushing dreams above themselves
unravelling heartbeats
and the stitching on ballet shoes
once tired
you’d cremate me
oh
but i’d have the history of pine forests in my grain"

these lines
acting as a poem

somewhat of a method actor
born of parents in the theater
thrown out into the gutter

maybe will grow up
and crawl back into the theater
to specialise in Shakespearean roles
a little of Chekov, some of Eugene O'Neill

You are used to being overloaded with work
That's what happens when you work in a startup
Especially a startup dealing in Recruitment
That too, not run-of-the-mill Recruitment
You specialise in niche roles
Thus, you need to invest a lot of time and effort
In order to pull off closures
Yes, a recruiter's life is never going to be easy
But Recruitment pales in comparison to Research
When you are working on a major research project
You are essentially taking part in an almost never-ending race
Against that elusive devil, Time
A race you can ill afford to lose
And the race track is far from straight
In fact, it is full of twists and turns
Some of them are even more dangerous
Than those hairpin bends you often encounter
While driving up the mountains
There are also numerous obstacles along the way
And to cap it all
There are no prizes for winning the race
On the other hand, if you lose
There will be a stiff penalty
In the form of losing the client, for ever
And what's worse
Is the fact that your credibility will take a massive beating
From which it will be quite difficult to recover
Life will never be the same again
So, you have to win, no matter what
Of course, you are used to working hard
Whether it be Recruitment or Research
So, you put your best foot forward
And work out of your skins
Putting off sleep as much as possible
Even when your body is protesting vociferously
Against this blatant abuse
To add insult to the injury
Your laptop shows you the *******
And your phone literally dies
Sending you into a brainfade
That would have put even Australian cricketer Steve Smith to shame
Luckily, your father's presence of mind saves the day
But your troubles are not over yet
The harder you work
The more confusing the project gets
It's like being trapped in a maze
Except that it's a thousand times worse
Because the maze is controlled from outside
As if it were a puppet
With your boss pulling the strings
Thus, the harder you try to find a way out
The more you get trapped inside
With every passing hour
Hope slowly drains out of you
Until you are forced to admit
That all you can do, is pray
And keep praying for all eternity
Hoping against hope
That Harry Potter and his friends will save the day

Allyson was someone I got to know through words,
Be it fake or authentic,
Humans specialise in creating characters,
But when do characters stop being characters,
And represent a deeper truth of our own.
Maybe Allyson has been fabricated again,
Or that Allyson has been real all this time.
In the end, it's impossible to tell when,
Fiction diverts from reality.

It's about GROWTH.
It's about what type of fruit
inevitability grows.
But you don't get to pick and choose,
you don't get to specialise -
You can't specify your choice of variety,
no, it's a job-lot, in its entirety.
But don't get stressed,
it's not about yield or performance,
it's not a contest.
It's about the kind of person you express,
the flavour of person folk taste
when you're most hard pressed.
It's about the fruit of God's Spirit,
the overflowing character of Jesus.
But don't fret,
don't boast -
it's about
GROWTH.

to specialise in one area
tending small plots
that's poetry